Twelfth Night fell on the Sunday evening that year – an unfortunate mischance which occasioned a more restrained gathering than some of Lady Barnham’s younger guests might ideally have liked. Even so, Cecily could not help but feel just a flicker of excitement at the thought of acquainting herself with the intriguing Mr Forster, who would most certainly be attending his mama that night. She had spotted him about town on a couple of occasions since her arrival, looking elegant and important in his caped boxcoat and beaver, but – to her own mild and private amusement – he had remained singularly innocent, both of her presence, and of the fact that he had managed to catch her eye.
Lord and Lady Barnham had taken one of the smaller houses overlooking Sydney Gardens, though it was still a most charming property with a most magnificent drawing room, decorated in soft pink and greyish-blue, conveniently overlooking the park. Cecily was wearing a half-mourning gown of a delicate grey silk, edged in black, together with long black gloves, a string of black pearls and a simple bandeau to adorn an intricate array of glossy mahogany curls. The hair had been styled to a new design, spotted just that week in ‘La Belle Assemblee’. Browne had been a good half hour in its manufacture, a half hour of such tugging and pinning that Cecily was desperate that the torment should prove itself worthwhile. But she had smiled at herself as she studied her reflection in the mirror. Yes, quite successful, she decided, and she was in remarkably good looks just now. It was lucky that grey actually suited her. It seemed to bring out the lustre of her dark, expressive eyes.
She was not immediately at liberty to verify this opinion, however, for the necessary introductions and pleasantries took a fair amount of time: Lord Barnham, looking stiff and worn and surprisingly outdated against the easy style of his eldest son; a sprightly, elderly lady in a remarkably fancy lace cap referred to as ‘Aunt Forster’ who turned out to be his lordship’s sister; a Mr Churchman and his relative Mrs Blackman, passing through Bath on their way across to Ireland; young Mr Springfield, whom she found to be a somewhat unpromising-looking youth sporting a rather odd-looking outfit apparently of military influence; Mr and Mrs Bairstow, en route to York; one or two others. Lord Barnham was all politeness, though perhaps a little forbidding in his formal evening clothes. He was quick to ensure that the servant pandered to her every need, and severe on every imagined inattention.
It was quite some time before she was fully at liberty to be sought out by his son. But, whether the greyness of the gown or the torment of the hairstyle had anything to do with it or not, she was then able to detect sufficient admiration in his steadfast gaze to satisfy even more-inflated hopes than her own had been. Cecily felt quite small as she finally bobbed him a demure little curtsey. She hadn’t realised just how tall he was.
‘You were in quite some haste to reach Bath the other morning, Mr Forster?’ she suggested, allowing herself to be drawn by him to a two-seater settee in a quiet corner of the room. Mr Churchman and Mr Springfield were in the opposite corner, demolishing a game of chess. Well, Mr Churchman was demolishing the game, that is. His hapless opponent had captured hardly any pieces at all and was pondering the situation with a good deal of astonished disbelief. Miss Forster was sitting, watching, with her elderly aunt. ‘I must confess I was really most intrigued.’
Mr Forster looked mystified.
‘How so, Lady Cecily?’ he asked her, eventually. His speaking voice was as arresting as she had remembered it – deep, clear and with impeccable articulation. ‘I must admit that I was keen to reach the city as soon as I could. It was my birthday on the third and I knew that my parents would be anxious to see me – they had set up a most amusing entertainment for me, as it happened. But – but, tell me, do - how ever did you know about that?’
Cecily allowed herself a secret little smile.
‘Well,’ she said, coyly. ‘Well, I wonder, indeed.’
Now it was the gentleman’s turn to smile. He had a most becoming open smile which quite lit up his face.
‘Ha,’ he said. ‘Now you mock me. It is most unkind in you - though I must warn you that you tease yourself as much as me, for I shall harass you for ever for keeping me in suspense.’
‘Oh dear. I do not think that I should like to be harassed for ever. It sounds like torture of the first degree.’
‘Oh it is, I can assure you, my lady. You had much better tell me straight away. It would save us both a very great deal of pain.’
‘I am not quite persuaded as to why it should pain me, although I can see that it would cause you a great deal of bother - for to harass someone for ever is a capital offence, I hear.’
‘Is it indeed? But there, I fear you mock me once again. Show me the statute in which it is written. I will not believe it else.’
‘Oh, it is not a written statute at all. I understand it to be more in – shall we say? - the oral tradition.’
‘Ha, well despite your assurances I think it not a capital offence. A judge would find it devilishly difficult to resolve on one’s guilt in so esoteric an affair. But I am not at all a cruel gentleman, you understand. It would be difficult to say whether you or I should suffer the most pain from the experience. You had better capitulate now, my lady. It is much the better thing for you to do.’
Cecily allowed herself to catch his eye. It was as dark as his lashes, despite its twinkle.
‘Very well,’ she acceded graciously. ‘I see that you will give me no rest until I tell you. But you will be quite chagrined when I tell you, so prepare yourself for the worst, Mr Forster – for it is no less than the sorry fact that I spent a full evening in your company only five short days ago and you never even cast one glance in my direction for the whole of the time you were there.’
Mr Forster appeared suitably dumbfounded.
‘A whole evening?’ he exclaimed. ‘A whole evening? But where was this – and how should I not have seen you?’
His total confusion was so evident that Cecily had to allow herself a little giggle before explaining the situation to him – of how she had benefited from the secrecy of her veil, and of how she had found him already gone when she had risen for breakfast the very next day.
Mr Forster slapped his forehead.
‘No – really? So not only an evening, but a whole night and morning as well? What a numbskull I am. But if you will insist on secreting yourself behind a veil like that I really cannot be thought of as in any way to blame.’
Cecily shook her head laughingly.
‘On the contrary, Mr Forster, you are totally to blame. The gentleman always is, I fear. But see – there is no harm done after all, for fate has obviously determined that we should become acquainted come what may. She may not be resisted, you understand. She has quite a habit of getting her own way. She has brought us here under false pretences. You thought you were come to Bath for entertainment, and I for some clothes, whereas, in fact, she actually brought us here purely to effect our acquaintance.’
‘But how could you possibly think yourself in need of any clothes, my lady? After all, how could you at all improve on what I already see?’
‘Oh, for shame, sir, you are far too easily impressed. I am most horridly out of date. Why I fear your cousin will quite have written me off already, if the state of his current attire is anything to go by. (By the way – what is that arrangement he wears around his neck?) Can you not tell that I am come to Bath in the direst need of replenishing my sadly dated wardrobe? After all, I have been over eighteen months in mourning now. It is high time that I acquired something new.’
‘You are not impressed by my cousin’s style? But it is absolutely de rigueur, I assure you – or so he informs me, at any rate.’
‘Is it, indeed? I cannot say that I’ve seen anything quite as – well, imaginative as that cravat before. On what authority does he assure you of its cachet?’
‘Well – I cannot say exactly, I’m afraid, my lady. You would have to ask him for its provenance direct.’
‘So you have not seen
a picture of it, or known of it before?’
Mr Forster smiled.
‘Not exactly, no,’ he rejoindered. ‘I think you will find it comes purely from the oral tradition.’
Cecily had been enjoying her little tête a tête with the handsome and entertaining Mr Forster but, happening to look up just at that moment, she suddenly realised that the eyes of Lady Barnham, Lord Barnham, Mrs Springfield and her aunt and uncle were all upon her, and blushingly realised that it would look most particular should she remain engrossed in his company for many minutes more. So she rose from the settee in the pretence of watching the conclusion to the chess (the conclusion was never in any doubt. Mr Springfield was well and truly vanquished from his very first move), and then determined on joining Miss Forster at the opening pianoforte instead. It turned out that both young ladies had admirable singing voices, which they demonstrated to extremely good effect, and both were skilful players, though Cecily turned out to be by far the more entertaining of the two for she was able to transmit something of her own self into her execution which Miss Forster was singularly unable – or unwilling - to do. Then Mr Springfield proposed arranging a glee. Cecily, just on the verge of enthusiastically supporting his suggestion, luckily spotted the look on her ladyship’s face before she did so. It was not a very acquiescent look. In fact, it was most definitely a very censorious look – a look which made it quite apparent that Lady Barnham strongly disapproved of such unbecoming levity in her drawing room – particularly with it being Sunday. So instead of championing the rather squashed-looking Mr Springfield Cecily meekly allowed Miss Forster quietly to dissuade him, and proposed a somewhat more decorous performance of some light Italian operatics instead.
It was during a less frantic moment, as they were all enjoying tea, that Cecily’s gaze fell on Lord Barnham once again. Amidst all the comings and goings in the busy drawing room he was sitting quite quietly, watching his guests, with only Aunt Forster sitting now by his side. Nobody went voluntarily to speak to him. Nobody drew him in. And indeed, from that moment on, whenever Cecily’s glance happened to fall in his direction, she could see that nobody paid him the slightest attention whatsoever.
The evening was so much a success that the onset of the fireworks which had ostensibly formed the main excuse for the event caught them almost entirely by surprise. The conversation froze in mid sentence at the sound of the first explosion and was replaced, after a moment or two’s reflection, by a somewhat unbecoming dash to the windows in order to gain a good view. A servant appeared and snuffed a few of the candles. The room felt warm and intimate in the darkness. Somehow, Cecily was not too sure how, Mr Forster managed to place himself right behind her as she claimed a corner from which to watch the display. She was acutely aware of his presence not an inch away from her, and of his impeccable speaking voice continually interjecting with the most amusing commentary as the brilliant flashes briefly lit and then instantly departed the cloudy winter’s sky.
Chapter 6
Cecily was sitting at her dressing table, eyeing herself critically in the mirror. Browne was brushing out her hair in preparation for bed. Her chamber was warm and comfortable, and in the flickering light of a candle the face that looked back at her was quite a satisfactory one. The features were regular, she felt, the complexion good and of a healthy colour, the dark hair glossy, and still most charmingly curled.
‘I was in company with Mr Forster this evening, Browne,’ she said at last as her maid discarded the brush and set it down before her. Cecily stood up and allowed herself to be eased gently into her nightgown. Browne had warmed it in front of the fire. ‘He is certainly a most attractive young gentleman, with quite some degree of charm. My aunt was a little concerned, I seem to think.’
The maid nodded astutely. She had been with Lady Cecily since she had left school two years before. She knew only too well why Mrs King might seem a little alarmed.
‘Well, it’s early days as yet, my lady,’ she said, cautiously. ‘And, after all, Mr Alfred cannot expect you to hide yourself away all winter. There are plenty of young gentlemen to seek you out in a city such as Bath.’
‘There are indeed. And of course I shall not allow Mr Forster’s personal attractiveness to influence me unduly. I hope I know better than to judge him entirely on his looks…’
Now that she had completed her research Cecily felt quite ready to undertake some long-awaited purchasing at last. Accompanied by an excited Mrs King and a rather underwhelmed-looking footman, whose task it would be to sort out the deliveries and to carry any immediate purchases back home, she set out to the selected purveyors in good time the next morning, ready to tackle the double endeavour of making her final choices and restraining her aunt from persuading her into acquiring far too much. Even so, she soon found herself the somewhat startled new owner of a most attractive Gibraltar fan and some assorted silver trinkets (newly arrived at Moore’s only that very same morning), two lengths of muslin at 10/6d a yard (the one with the prettiest silver spot imaginable, the other a most becoming burgundy-and-white stripe which would look just the thing with a matching spencer and gloves), two pairs of silk stockings at 10s a pair, an assortment of thread in various colours, and a pair of soft kid gloves for evenings which reached half way up her arms.
The endeavour was almost completed when, more than satisfied with the nature and extent of their purchases but now feeling in dire need of some rest and refreshment, the two ladies stepped out of Goodes’ haberdashers, parcels of trim in hand, and ran instantly into Mr Forster who was making his way down the hill.
‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, ladies,’ he began – but then, realising who it was, bowing respectfully and smilingly instead. ‘I find you in the midst of a most wearisome business, I see.’
‘You do indeed, Mr Forster. We have spent above three hours in more shops than I can possibly remember and completely worn ourselves out into the bargain. We have achieved what we set out to do, however, so we must take some solace from that.’
‘And in what direction do you now intend to go, Lady Cecily?’
‘We were just on our way to the ladies’ coffee house in the Abbey Yard, Mr Forster. We have been desperate for a Bath bun this last half hour or more.’
‘Then you must allow me to escort you there. May I relieve you or your parcels? I see your footman is already fully employed.’
He eyed the footman with some amusement, though the footman was looking even more decidedly underwhelmed than before. The ladies were making full use of him. It was really quite debatable whether he would manage to get himself home.
‘Oh, pray, do not give yourself such trouble, Mr Forster,’ put in Mrs King, clutching her parcels determinedly. ‘I am sure you have much better things to do than… You have no need to escort two ladies to their refreshment. We are perfectly well able to… We are quite comfortably set up, I assure you, and if only we had my son staying with….’
Mr Forster, in his turn, assured her that, indeed, he could think of nothing better to do with his time than to escort these particular ladies to their refreshment, and as both he and Mrs King appeared determined to remain steadfast to their views the situation threatened to end in stalemate. Luckily Cecily did not share the qualms of her aunt, and rapidly demonstrated this by allowing the gentleman to divest her of her remaining acquisitions. Mrs King, entirely vanquished, had very little option but to give way. So she graciously allowed herself to be propelled with no further ado down Milsom Street towards the Abbey Yard, insisting only upon three short stops by particularly ravishing shop windows, before gratefully attaining the coffee house at the bottom of the hill.
‘Shall you be attending the assembly this evening, my lady?’ asked Mr Forster. He was having to talk to her across Mrs King, who had adeptly managed to place herself between them.
‘Indeed we shall, Mr Forster. It will be my very first visit to the New Rooms. I hear they are quite spectacular. I am feeling most excited.’
‘Then perhaps y
ou will reserve the first two dances for me? They will be country dances only, I fear – we are allowed only country dances on a Monday, you understand – but at least they will have the advantage of allowing you a good look round while we stop to catch our breaths.’
Cecily could feel her spirits soar. They banished her tiredness quite away. It was always most satisfactory to arrive at a ball with a definite engagement. It prevented a good deal of apprehension.
And indeed, as she stepped expectantly into the Octagon Room later that evening, accompanied by her uncle (who made straight for the card room next door,) her aunt (who had affixed so tall an ostrich feather into her cap that it had proved essential to lift the roof off the chair in order to get her inside) and Browne, who would ensure that the ladies’ outdoor garments were well looked after as they divested themselves of capes, muffs, boots and all the other accoutrements deemed necessary for a winter’s evening in Bath, she was aware of a most pleasurable feeling of mounting excitement which was in no way diminished by the grandeur of her surroundings. Despite still being dressed in half mourning, in her demure ivory silk evening gown with deep hems and edgings in black lace, Cecily was feeling happy and confident and she was ready to enter the ballroom in an instant. The machinations of her aunt served to delay her just a little, due to an unfortunate mishap as she exited the chair which necessitated some instant renovations from the ever-resourceful Browne. But at last she, too, was ready and then, from the chill and bustle of the Octagon, a set of double doors instantly transported them into a magical world of warmth, light and elegance, and the echo of voices, feet and stridently tuning strings.
The crush by the doorways was so great that for a moment Cecily despaired of ever being found by Mr Forster in time for the start of the dance. So she dragged an unwilling Mrs King through the mass of people to the front of the crowd and found a vacant bench at the upper end of the room. It was fortunately done, for Mrs King had become quite chilled through her unwonted exposure to the frosty evening air, and was pleased to thaw out a little near to the fire. Even better, no sooner had they taken their places than they were approached by Lady Barnham and her daughter, for whom Mrs King immediately made some space.
Mr Forster's Fortune Page 3